Inspirational Quotes Meme Drabbles
by chemiglee
Summary: Drabbles based on inspirational quote
1. Blaine and Tina

**mi-kitamura on Tumblr asked: "We assume others show love the same way we do — and if they don't, we worry it's not there." - Unknown**

It starts with cookies. Tina's double chocolate chip cookies are buttery, gleaming, dark brown beauties. She presents them to him with such a proud look on her face that Blaine can't not try. They're slightly warm and not too sweet and they have that slightly bitter edge that only good-quality chocolate can provide.

"These are amazing, Tina," Blaine breathes out, eyes closed in bliss. "How'd you know I was hungry?"

"It's going to be a long day," Tina beams. "You need to keep your strength up. I made them this morning, before school."

Blaine eats two or three in front of her and brings the rest home. He can't not, and they're still good after re-heating. They get him through a pile of calculus homework, which is a win. (As it turns out, his mom and dad love the cookies, too.)

He knows how much effort she puts into them, and the look on her face, like the sun breaking through dense grey cloud, is just too sweet not to enjoy.

Two days later, it's oatmeal raisin. And they're still delicious, even though the raisins are a little dried out and they're crispy about the edges. (Cooper, home on a visit, pounces on this batch, because Blaine could only manage one more after he came home.)

The day after, Tina helpfully brings sandwiches and a thermos of soup for lunch. Blaine isn't that fond of beef vegetable, but he dutifully takes a cup of it, and then eats his own lunch after. It goes on for a full week, and Blaine fills up so fast that he gets sleepy in the afternoons, which is not good for making it through Student Council or Glee practice.

He figures it's time for a hard discussion when Tina starts talking about omega-3 pills.

"Blainey, these are so good for you. They help your memory, and you're so busy - "

She's so tentative when she offers all this food to him, but it tumbles out before he can stop it. It's getting out of hand. Sam is starting to make pointed comments about how annoying she is. But more than that: Tina looks more and more worn out and she's starting to forget about her own stuff.

He smiles as warmly as he can. "Tina, thank you, but no, you don't have to all this stuff for me."

"Do what?" But her eyes betray the wound, and tears gather. Blaine feels conscience-stricken, but he presses on, he's got to.

He chooses a comforting tone, and truthful, too, because he knows, more than anyone else does, that Tina needs safety. "I like you first, Tina, then your food. Or your gifts."

"I do this because I care, Blainey. Why don't you bring anything?"

"I don't have to bake or give you gifts just to show you that I care."

"But - I - " and Tina looks down at her hands and spreads out the fingers. And that's the cue: Blaine grasps them firmly in his. "We can do this… right? Because I just want to tell you every day that you're an amazing friend. And - " Blaine raises his eyebrows, deadpan - "You can tell me every day that I'm amazing. That's better than a million dozens of cookies."

Tina lets out a long, long sigh. "I was getting tired." She steps closer to him and puts her head on his chest. "Are you sure I don't have to?"

"You don't. You just need to be you. Besides, you can use the omega-3 pills," Blaine quips.

She laughs and pokes him in the ribs. "As long as you stay you, I'm okay with that."


	2. Blaine and Tina (2)

**voices-echo on Tumblr asked: "I hadn't realized how much I'd been needing to meet someone I might be able to say everything to." [Elizabeth Berg]**

To be clear, Blaine's father loves him. Very much. Blaine's father taught him to drive, and before that, he'd talked to the Dalton headmaster two days after the assault, and before that? Before that, he'd put his arm around his fourteen-year-old son and said, softly, quietly, truthfully: "Blaine, when you were born, I held you in my arms and I told you I'd love and protect you forever. This hasn't changed anything. I still do."

That doesn't mean that talking to him is an easy business. And, after three hours of staring up at his ceiling, in bed, he just has to talk to someone, and that someone has to be Tina.

Friendships, Blaine reflects, are strange. You could have different friends for different reasons, and Tina just fits for this.

He whispers, hoarsely, through the phone: "Tay-Tay? You still up?"

"Hey, Blainey. It's late." And then there's a considering pause. "You don't sound okay."

"I'm not. Can we talk?"

"Anything for you," Tina says warmly. "I'll just turn off this movie. What's going on?"

He sighs. "It's my dad. He thinks I need a safety net school in case NYADA doesn't work out. I don't understand - why would I need a safety net school? I'll get in."

"Of course you'll get in," she says stoutly. "Your audition was spectacular and your resume is the best I've ever seen. You're the kind of student NYADA wants."

"I know I'll get in," Blaine echoes. "I'm a strong candidate."

"But?"

"Do you think my dad thinks I won't?" And Blaine knows, yes, he does know that he'll get in, but it's that weird thing that parents do to you, he thinks, because they know where all your skeletons are buried, and you're not sure if they're looking out for you or if they're trying to take you down a peg.

"What did he say?" She sounds worried, and she stifles a yawn, but Blaine, once the gates are open, has a hard time slowing down.

"He says I'll get in, but he went on and talked about how he applied to U of Ohio _and_ Columbia and how the NYADA parent blogs all talk about quotas and applicant pools. What does that mean?"

Tina knows exactly what Blaine means. "You mean, does your dad think you're not good enough?"

"He doesn't understand," Blaine says, in frustration. "NYADA's the best school for musical theatre in the country. What's wrong with aiming high?"

"There's nothing wrong with aiming high. Your dad aimed for Columbia, didn't he? You get your ambition from him."

"He always has to put the brakes on, telling me to be careful and cautious about everything. Sometimes it feels like he doesn't _really_ care. He keeps on mentioning what if, what if. Sometimes I just need my dad to be a cheerleader for me instead of a doom-and-gloom guy."

"He thinks you can't see the consequences, I guess?"

"I know the consequences. I just don't care - not when you know what's going to happen. I know my future, Tina. I'm going to New York and I'll perform and make people happy, and NYADA will teach me to do that, better than anywhere else."

"You already do that." He can hear Tina's smile, vibrating over satellite air space. "But you know he cares, right? You know?"

"I know, Tina. It's - it's just hard to relate to him, especially when he's worried about me. Why can't he be - I don't know - like me? It'd be a lot_easier_."

"My mom's like that, too. I believe in everything she says, about equality and justice and misogyny, and yeah - " Tina sighs, too - "Like when she wanted to go over to Mike's house and yell at him and make a scene, after we broke up, but all I wanted her to do was to hug me. I know what you mean. But, you know - "

"Know what?"

"I don't think he'd be looking up NYADA parent blogs because he thought you wouldn't get in. He wants to understand. If he didn't care, he wouldn't do anything like that, not at all."

Blaine passes a hand over his eyes. She's right.

"Look," Tina says quietly, "you and I both have parents who aren't like us, I guess."

"Yeah. Yeah."

"And they both love us, right? They're just… aliens from another planet. Handling them in a process."

For the first time in hours, Blaine laughs. "D'you think they talk about us like this?"

"I think your dad would think my mom is too loud," Tina giggles.

"Thanks for talking to me. I just knew that you'd get it." Blaine closes his eyes drowsily.

"You can talk to me about anything, Blainey. I mean it. And I promise I'll always listen."


	3. Rachel

**Anonymous asked on Tumblr: When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us. – Helen Keller**

**ficdirectory asked on Tumblr: "Toss your dashed hopes not into a trash bin but into a drawer where you are likely to rummage some bright morning." - Robert Brault**

I

"Miss Berry?"

Rachel dropped her arm. She stared ahead, unseeing, at some random patterns on the far wall and she couldn't hear the words except for that tone, that vaguely apologetic and barely caring tone that's talked to so many fallen ingénues before –

Had it been too much to let herself hope she'd take on Barbra's role? It wasn't far-fetched. The rare and special had happened to people before, and Rachel knew that unshakeable truth that resonated within her bones, the truth that whispered that she was a star, a one-in-a-million talent. So why shouldn't it happen to her? She'd won lots of competitions in Glee. She'd sung at Nationals. She'd won Winter Showcase. She'd finally managed to win over Miss July.

But it wasn't going to happen, was it? The truth collected in her throat, crumbly and dry like the dust gathering in the corners of the room. It ran round and round in her mind and she was so tired – so tired. She, Rachel, who'd always had so much to say, was unable to string together enough of a sentence to talk to the casting director –

"Miss Berry?"

Rachel managed to lift the phone back up. "Y – yes? Do you have any feedback for me?"

This time, the casting director sounds kind. "Your tone and control and range is very impressive for someone so young. We love your passion. We feel as though you need more experience before you step into a role like Fanny Brice."

"H – how do I get more experience?"

"We'd like to offer you an understudy role for Fanny," she says.

Rachel closes her eyes. An understudy? It felt so – so disappointing, so heavy, not something she wanted now, because now? Now, she wanted success, and she'd wanted to make Fanny Brice live so large that she'd fill up the stage with her power and hear the audiences cheer, over and over and over, for her. An understudy? It was just unthinkable. She'd never be happy as an understudy. And yet - "Can I think about it?"

"You can have until tomorrow."

"You'll have an answer tomorrow."

II

The girl looks familiar. She's dark-haired, too, but she's taller, and older, and she's carrying two small coffees in front of her.

"You're Rachel Berry, aren't you?"

Rachel plasters on a quick, friendly-looking smile and shifts her books over to her side of the table. "Hello. Do I know you?"

"No, but I know you. You won Winter Showcase. I'm Sarah Aronson. I'm going to play Fanny Brice." She looks pleased. Of course she does.

"Congratulations! I'm sure you have the talent and the experience needed to play such an iconic part." Rachel knows the protocol, but she can't quite keep the disappointment out of her voice, not when it's been on her mind the whole day. In an hour, she's got to give the producers an answer, and she can't exactly say, "I don't know", but that is what she wants to say. It's so uncertain. She hates that.

"I was right for the part of Fanny," Sarah says, not so modestly. A lot of her friends would have groaned or rolled their eyes, but Rachel understands. When you know something so true about yourself, why hide it? She sits down in the chair opposite of Rachel without asking if she can. "Would you like a coffee? It's my treat."

"No, thank you," Rachel says primly. Her back goes rigid. It almost feels like Sarah took away the part on purpose. She doesn't know why – it's not fair and it's not personal. But, Rachel admits (grudgingly) to herself that she feels this way because she'd thought of Fanny as hers. Hers, and hers alone, and not someone else's.

"I don't like to bullshit. I wanted to say – I think you should understudy me." Sarah takes out a coffee and sips it without hesitation, even though it must have been scalding hot. "You're really, really good."

"Why would you care if I understudied you or not?" It comes out – right. Not too angry. Confused, yes.

"I've seen a lot of girls come and go," Sarah says. She puts her coffee down and looks narrowly back at Rachel. Her dark eyes bore into hers, and she can't look away. Sarah reminds her of Shelby, which is why this is so confusing in the first place. "NYADA's a small school, but even then, sometimes there's a lot of duds, a lot of fakes. But you just give off – something. You've got so much pride in your work. You're the real thing. You feel things hard and you don't beat around the bush. You know how rare that is around here? That's why."

"Do you really – " Rachel speaks slowly, measuring out the words carefully, and it's difficult; she doesn't often do that – "do you really think I'm the real thing?"

"I don't usually talk to my competition," and Sarah gives Rachel a small smile. "Do you talk to your competition? I don't think you do."

"Only if they're my friends, and you're not my friend."

"No, no, I'm not. But we've got to encourage each other in this business, too. I'd be fucking proud to call Rachel Berry my understudy, and that's the truth. One day, you'll bring down the house as Fanny. But - " Sarah pauses, significantly – "just not yet. You need more experience. This is the best way to get it."

Rachel lets herself smile. It feels good. Like – resolution. "I'll think about it. I promise."

"I'd even help you with future auditions," Sarah offers. "I never offer to help the competition, either. You should think about it."

"I'll play Fanny Brice someday." Rachel jerks her chin up and looks Sarah straight and directly in the eyes.

"I know you will. Who knows, it might be sooner rather than later."

III

Three months later, Sarah gets the flu and stays in bed for two weeks.

Rachel closes her eyes, again, before the red velvet curtain rises. Her moment's come. _ It's here_.


	4. Dottie

**amongsoulsandshadows on Tumblr asked: "Be the change you want to see in the world."**

**Trigger warnings for descriptions of anxiety attacks, marital conflict, therapy; brief references to the Shooting Star 4.18 incident and the Columbine HS massacre.**

I

When Dottie was seven, her parents had their biggest fight. Dottie remembers how she started, painfully, when the vases hit the wall, shattering into a million rainbow-slicing shards of glass. Dottie still remembers when her father slammed the bedroom door – how the foundations shook from side to side, how the roof slates jiggled and jumped, how the windows rattled in their frames. When the door slammed, Dottie had crawled into her bed and wrapped a pillow over her head and cried – wordless, soundless, but her heart oozed out of her mouth in slow, molten rivulets of lead.

When that didn't work – when they switched to screams and swearing at the top of their lungs – Dottie vaguely remembered her Sunday school teacher, whispering: "If you get scared, just pray to Jesus. He always hears the prayers of little girls." She'll pray. And, because she also remembers _obasan_ clutching her much smaller self against her frail chest, whispering soothing, soft things in Japanese – she rocks herself, like a baby. She rocks herself and prays herself to sleep, saying, over and over, "Please let it be okay, please let it be okay," and she falls -

– and everything is okay. The next morning, her parents look exhausted and grim-faced, but they're both still there, in the house, and they haven't left her after all.

Her parents never fight like that again, but the damage is done. She never loses her fear of loud noises and raised voices and anger, which is why, after Tina Cohen-Chang threw a banana down on the dirty hallway floor and snarled, "This isn't organic," Dottie had crawled into the closest, most hidden corner of McKinley that she could find. She rocked, and prayed to Jesus, over and over and over, until it was – all - all – all – all - okay. She forgives Tina, but she never forgets how unkind she was.

II

Miss Pillsbury is the one to find her. And it's a good thing she does. Miss Pillsbury, as it turns out, completely understands her little issue. Dottie doesn't ask why - it would be so rude – but she gets the feeling Miss Pillsbury might have issues herself. She's not a licensed therapist, but she calls her parents and suggests that everyone in the family gets real help. And there's a lot of arguing over the phone – Dottie can hear her mother's raised voice and her heart juddering in her chest – but they do.

Her therapist teaches her some concrete coping strategies that work, and she slowly feels herself getting back to the middle – to being normal. Sometimes she regresses – like that failed Rapture meeting at BreadstiX, and all through Coach Sue's gun incident, when she'd spent two hours huddled under a desk, hands tightly covering her eyes – but overall? She's a lot better than she was. But the jocks still throw slushies, the cheerleaders still gossip, the teachers still shut their eyes, and the nerds still get ignored by everyone.

"You're really helping," Dottie chirps, right after a session ends. "But I feel like I could be doing something more to help others be kind. If we were kinder, there wouldn't be so much anger."

Her therapist scratches at the stubble on his cheek. "What do you suggest?"

"The kids are so mean. If people were nicer, they wouldn't be so – so upset. I want things to change."

"Human beings are angry because they're unfulfilled and frustrated."

"I've been reading about an organization that tries to help bring kids together," Dottie says – and her voice quivers. "It's called Rachel's Challenge, and it's named after a girl who died at Columbine. She was always trying to spread kindness."

"Would you like to do that?"

"There's nothing wrong with wanting people to be kinder to each other," Dottie whispers.

"You just have to make a plan and stick with it," her therapist smiles. "I believe in you."

"Do you really?" Dottie's glasses mist up.

"Why don't you ask those Glee Club friends of yours? I think they'd be happy to help you."

"Even Tina?"

"It sounds like Tina needs kindness most of all," he says gently.

Dottie had given Tina a lot of space after the banana incident. Tina was a - a - a - _bitch_. But Dottie hadn't stopped to think that Tina might need healing, too. "Do you really think she'd help me?"

"Do you want things to change?"

"Yes. Yes, I want things to change. I want people to feel better about themselves so they don't have to hurt other people, and this club will help us do that."

"Then, I think you have your answer."

III

After the meeting, Tina pulls Dottie out into the hallway and hugs her tightly.

"I'm so sorry," she says, sniffling. "I was mean and awful to you before. Tell me what I need to do to help you."

Dottie knows that changes sometimes have to start out small. She smiles at her, pushes up her glasses, and starts to speak


	5. Brittany and Artie

**amongsoulsandshadows asked on Tumblr: "Change is inevitable, unless you're a vending machine." - Unknown**

She lifts him in her arms so easily, like he weighs nothing. Artie doesn't want to disrupt this moment – he's still suspended, literally in a mix of disbelief and confused lust and hope (too much hope, too much fear of rejection) – and then, he's lying on her bed, and she hovers over him, blocking out the light. She's a siren, and Artie's about to founder on the jagged rock, but he can't help himself, not when she's singing a song this sweet and seductive and low.

She smells like Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers. As she kisses him – oh, it's her tongue, slipping around his – her golden ponytail dangles tantalizingly close to her cheek. He dares to reach up and slide his fingers through the curls. Brittany shimmers like a mirage. Whatever she's saying muffles in his ears, and Artie doesn't want to hear, not at all. They plunge into the water together. He's a merman, and she's a mermaid with rainbows for scales, and she takes his hand and pulls him into the deepest currents of a cold, wine-dark sea.

He falls in love.

—-

Artie always knew Brittany was special, but he didn't expect to explain everything. She does understand, really, but she explains it back in a language no one understands, and then he has to make sure she understands what other people think she understands.

If it sounds confusing, that's because it is. It's also confusing to Artie, because he didn't want for things to change this quickly. Part of his mind and all of his dreams consists of Brittany and him, together, exploring a fantastic world under the ocean, where all that matters is what the fish say and what the corals say back.

While they're on land, it's the language of mortals that keeps them apart. She gets so frustrated, too, when she can't understand him. Her face pinches, and Artie knows she's trying to hide the fact that she's having trouble wrapping her mind around questions like "Why is the sky blue? Why isn't it red?" and "Four-leafed clovers should be good luck, but Rory never has any good luck. Does that mean three-leafed clovers are lucky now?"

They still make love, and fuck, and it's fantastic to be able to do all these things, things he never imagined he'd ever do. There's magic in Brittany's fingers and lips, and when she does that thing with her hips, Artie catapults to somewhere above the earth and plunges, hard and deep, into the ocean. So, there's nothing wrong with how they have sex. It's the words between them that get harder and harder to navigate.

Feelings are easier. Feelings are simple.

"I really like you, Artie. You try to make me feel good about myself."

He strokes her bare stomach and closes his eyes. "Do you ever think about the future?"

"Sometimes – " she swallows "- but it scares me. It's dark, and sticky, and cold. It's like those pictures of angelfish you showed me, all teeth and eyes and spines."

"I'm not scared of it," Artie says tightly. "I'll take care of you. I'll be a famous director. You can dance in all of my movies."

"I know. But that's not what I meant."

Brittany's scared of something murkier – Artie doesn't know what it is, except that its shapelessness frightens her to the core. He doesn't have any words to help her understand that she'll be okay – he thinks. He's not really sure. Many times, _he_ doesn't even understand her.

He does the only thing he can, and takes her hand, holding it as gently and caressing her palm. She grabs onto his thumb hard and, wincing, he grits his teeth until she finally, regretfully, lets him go.

There might not be any use in trying to understand. The sea shifts and swirls around them. Artie fumbles desperately, and in all their conversations afterward, he feels as if he's throwing out a net in search of the dream, and she's there, beckoning then pushing him away, just beyond his reach.

—-

He calls her _stupid_. It's the last straw.

He slipped up, so she slips away, her mind swimming towards something – someone – else. And Artie lands, gasping, onto a distant beach. He sings to her, but she doesn't sing back.

—

Amazingly, she forgives him, and they learn to be friends. Sort of. Artie learns to care from a distance, and gradually – as school grinds on and Glee churns on and Brittany dances on – he lets her go. Change is inevitable. Change is hard. He still has vague dreams of mermaids and sirens and dolphins gliding through the water, but as they get closer to graduation, he learns (also) that the land, with all its limitations, is where he's fated to stay.

—-

"Hey, Britt."

"Oh, hi, Artie!" Brittany wipes at her reddened eyes with the back of her hand. "Are you mad I told everyone about the robots in your basement?"

"No," Artie said softly, "no, I'm not. I wanted to say I'm going to miss you. You be good at MIT, girl."

"I'm scared," and Brittany closes her eyes, trapped in fear. "I'm scared of going away from home and from my friends and what's going to happen to me?"

He looks up at her. The answer comes to him, slowly, steadily, as the tide reaches the shore. "I don't know," he says, carefully, holding her gaze, "but I promise, Brittany, we'll all be here to catch you if you fall. But you won't fall, Brittany." His voice warms and rises with enthusiasm – with passion. "You're the smartest person I know. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

She kneels down to his eye level. Her smile is sad. "You mean that, don't you?"

"Of course," Artie says. He hears the care in his voice. "I've never said anything truer in all my life."

"I'll miss you too, Artie. Keep in touch, won't you? I want to be there when you get your android legs."

She leans in and grazes his cheek with her kiss. Artie hears the tide's gentle roar and a mermaid softly humming goodbye, and this time, he doesn't cry.


	6. Tina

**Anonymous on Tumblr asked:**

**"Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life". –Steve Jobs**

**"When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be". –Lao Tzu**

**"Happiness is not something readymade. It comes from your own actions". –Dalai Lama**

**"If what you're doing is not your passion, you have nothing to lose."**

Act I

_**People often become actresses because of something they dislike about themselves. They pretend they are someone else. (Bette Davis)**_

You see, Rachel had had no backup to NYADA, and if Rachel, of all people – spectacularly talented, driven, hard-working, one-in-a-million Rachel - could choke at her audition, so could Tina.

If she got an audition, that is. And how likely was that? Tina had spent almost four years swaying in the background; she'd had only a fraction of Rachel's experience leading out in front. It was likely to stay that way, too.

It was time to get real, Tina Cohen-Chang.

She usually wouldn't do something this deliberate. But there was something to be said for reliable hours and steady paychecks, Tina thought wearily – the trip had uncharacteristically tired her out. So she Googled "career inventory", answered all the questions, and made a list of choices to research. She turned away from the performing arts ones.

She'd choose something, Tina decided firmly, that involved helping and where they wanted to be helped, where they'd appreciate being helped. Animals were easy to read, weren't they? You could always rely on their cues. They flattened their ears or hissed or wagged their tails, and she could learn how to handle them in school (that was what school was for!). And she could act, and sing, and dance, in community theatre, or in the shower, so she wouldn't be completely dishonoring her gift – if she had one.

At this, just as after every time she thought this, she threw her head down on her desk and prayed that the choice could be taken away from her, so it could feel sure – like how Rachel and Blaine were so sure – but there was no answer. There never was.

Act II

_**Acting is standing up naked and turning around very slowly. (Rosalind Russell)**_

Her parents _looked_ at each other. Tina kept her eyes on the spaghetti twirling itself, round and round and round, on her fork.

"Are you sure you want to do that, sweetie?" A crease split her father's forehead.

"I'm sure."

"But you've always wanted to act," her mother argued. She sounded upset. "You used to put on plays for the neighbors. You'd make all your costumes on my sewing machine."

"I'm sure, Mom." Tina felt stony and cold, and she mechanically reached for the salt and sprinkled it on her plate because it was something to do, and not something she'd have to feel so hard about. Feeling hurt too much.

They sighed. "You know we'll support you no matter what, right?"

"I know."

Dinner was completely silent after that. Tina didn't finish hers.

Act III

_**Acting is not being emotional, but being able to express emotion. (Kate Reid)**_

Miss Pillsbury – no, Mrs. Schuester now – _looked_ at her, then down at the scholarship application, filled out and ready for her recommendation.

"Have you ever handled animals before, Tina?"

"No," Tina admitted, reddening, "but I can learn. I'm on the Columbus College of Veterinary Medicine's wait list." Why was she so nervous?

"Is it something you think you'll like to do? You'll be doing that day in, day out, repetitively. You'll be helping, but it's - " she reached for the hand sanitizer – "messy. And loud. Very loud."

"I'm determined," Tina said, chin up. Her lip quivered.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Mrs. Schuester said. "You've only got one life to be happy in. You should spend it doing something you truly love." She bobbed her head helpfully and passed her over a pamphlet: _So You Think Your Life Is Over_.

"I haven't had chances to do what I love," Tina snapped. "This way, if I pursue vet medicine, I'll have a regular job. Why can't you see that?Thanks for the _help_." She slid her books off of the desk and the pamphlet skidded to the floor as she stomped out, and ignored Mrs. Schuester's look of surprise.

Where to go? She needed to go somewhere, anywhere private. The girls' bathroom. She locked the door. And once she threw her back against it, she looked from side to side and smiled, feral, teeth fully exposed, like a tiger.

She flung all the doors open first, one by one, stalking imaginary prey in and out of the stalls. She pulled out all the towels from their holders. Once the floor was littered with paper, she screamed the walls down. Over. Over. Over again.

She roared. She thundered. She burned. She cursed. She begged. Each scream bounced off the walls and the echoes battled each other, filling the room with all of her frustration. When that wasn't enough, she beat her fists against the shiny mirrors until her hands ached, over and over, pounding and whimpering and pleading, why, why, why, why, why.

Finally, when there was nothing left, no energy left, no desire or no courage left, she curled up, sobbing, in the corner furthest away from the entrance. Her hands throbbed and stained themselves reddish purple. She cried, drearily, for a long, long time. When there was only an empty, thinning grey shell of Tina left, she closed her aching eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights to consider all of her options.

And at the end of her thoughts, some minutes - or some hours - later, she let out a long, defeated groan. If this was going to be her destiny, Tina figured she might as well do the best she can, even if she was going to hate every day of it.

Act IV

_**Acting deals with very delicate emotions. It is not putting up a mask. **__**Each time an actor acts he does not hide; he exposes himself. (Rodney Daingerfield**__**)**_

When he strolled into the auditorium, Tina was there, sitting on the stage, her legs dangling. He waited patiently, just beyond her sight, to see if she noticed him. She was tracing each line of the page with a bookmark and mouthing the words out, and she seemed not to notice his approach. Either she was very _very_ interested in that thick textbook or she was trying to ignore him.

"Are you okay, Tina?"

She pushed down the impulse to cry again and kept her eyes down on the dancing letters. "I'm fine. You should go prepare for your NYADA audition, or go make out with Kurt, or something." She went back to her reading, eyes intent and engrossed, but the red-and-white blur swiftly ran up the steps, slid next to her, and snatched it out of her hands. The bookmark skittered out of her fingers.

"Hey, I was reading that!" she protested.

"_Skin Diseases of the Cat_? Really?" Blaine held the textbook up, a teasing smile spread across his very nice face, above her head and just out of her reach.

"I have to prepare for my future. Give that back!" She tried to reach over his thighs to grab it back, but she was shorter, so she was left to flail helplessly over Blaine while he dangled it above her head.

"Tina," he said reproachfully, "You can't tell me you really want that." He turned and tossed the book away, as far as he could, across the shining black tiles.

"It's not that easy for the rest of us, you know." She sounded petulant, and she hated it. She made to get up, but Blaine grabbed at her hand before she could stand, and yanked her down. Tina landed back on the stage with a thud. She winced.

"What do you mean, the rest of us?"

"Well," she said evasively, "not everything comes so easy to me as it does to you."

"I don't get it. Easy? You're just as smart as I am."

"I mean, you're like, the ultimate performer." She looked down at where hers and Blaine's hands met. "And you get confirmation of that all the time, so you know this is what you're meant to do. Rachel was like that, too."

Blaine shrugged. "You're telling me you_don't_ act? You could have fooled me."

"Don't we all – "Tina shrugs herself – "just to survive this school? I dress like this 'cause it's my armor. 'Cause it's me. Or it's how I want to be. Or it's how I'm feeling."

"And what are you trying to say now?" He pointed to her pretty yellow lace dress, and she pulled it protectively over her knees.

"That I'm going to be okay."

"You're pretending you are. If that isn't a performance, I don't know what is."

"I'm just _scared_," Tina admitted. She leaned her head on his shoulder and he bowed his head to look at her. "Rachel didn't have a backup. I just picked vet medicine because – because animals seem to be easy. And I'd have a steady income. Acting's not sure."

"That's why you do the part-time jobs to get by between acting gigs."

"Yeah – but – " _Maybe? Would this work?_

"Do you have a pet you're hiding from me? I've never seen one at your house."

"No – but I can learn, right? That's the point of going to school."

"Wouldn't you act even if you couldn't go to school for it?"

"Yeah – but – " and _this_ made her stop and pause and consider, because, well -

"Then acting's your life, right? Not someone else's, yours. Acting's the thing you can't live without. Didn't you say something like that to Mike?"

"But what if I _fail_? " she stage-whispered, and looked around herself fearfully, as if the doubts, with their crabbed, webby talons, would creep in and swallow her up. "What if I don't get in?"

"We'll make sure you do," Blaine said with determination.

"What am I going to do to get ready? I don't know the first thing to – " and she bit her lip anxiously, darting her eyes back and forth between the curtain and Blaine's concerned face.

"We''ll Google some acting technique websites. YouTube's gotta have something. We'll find an acting teacher. We'll practice, and tape ourselves acting, and critique it, and then practice some more."

"But what if _I _fail?"

"We'll find some vet stuff. Volunteer at the animal shelter, or something. But we'll audition you every single year until you get in. I'll drive you to all of them, just like you drove Rachel to Oberlin." He nodded emphatically.

"You've got your audition," she remonstrated.

"You can tell yourself you're helping me, if it makes you feel any better, but you're going to love helping me with this. Why question? You love it. It's even on your bookmark."

She lowered her eyes, but she knew the saying by heart. She'd made that in seventh grade art class, and it had marked every page in every book she'd read ever since. She perked up a little. She remembered the message and with it came a tiny whisper of hope. Tina quoted: " 'Get involved in acting to act. It's not worth it if you are just in it for the money. You have to love it.' "

"Who says that one?" Blaine asked gently.

"Philip Seymour Hoffman."

"He'd know, right? He had friends to help him through it. You have me."

Blaine's utter confidence infused her, and she felt it filling up, drop by tender drop, inside of her chest. "Thanks, Blaine."

"You're welcome. You think I can do it – can't you?"

"If you think I can do it, Blainey" – she smiled – "then yes. See, you _do_ find new ways to inspire me."

"You weren't acting then, were you?" He peered at her.

She giggled, because Blaine's mock seriousness was priceless. But with that, she cracked open, and reservoirs spilled in, then out, from a place inside herself that she'd thought was already empty. She turned her face upward and bathed it in the golden beams of the stage lights. They enveloped her, kindly, in their reassurance, their bliss. "No. Never."

Act V

_**I love acting. It is so much more real than life. (Oscar Wilde)**_

He kept on speaking, in a rush, so Tina wouldn't have time to fold back into her shell. She was the next one in line, so he didn't have much time to reassure her. "We practiced for this. You can do it."

"But -" and Tina tried to shove her fear down. Half of herself felt like it was going to be fine, but the other half wasn't that sure, and that half was - was -.

Blaine took both of her hands in his and curled his fingers over and around hers, securely, and the falling feeling she'd had all day just – stopped.

She landed on something soft.

She blinked at him, and Tina let go of his hands. With nowhere else to put them, she clasped her own hands together to steady herself. They were dry, she saw, with growing surprise, and warm, and they didn't shake, and all of a sudden - yes, there it was - she felt the lines and gestures come back to her body, sure and calm. They filled her with purpose. The darker half broke up, sighing, and disappeared in little puffs of smoke.

"Now go show NYADA how Miss Tina Cohen-Chang gets it done. Go get 'im, tiger."

But she wasn't a tiger - she was a bird. She was going to fly. Her teeth flashed white. "I will. Or I'll die trying."


	7. Blaine

**chemiglee asked (yes, I prompted myself, yolo): "Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been." – Twain**

When Blaine Anderson turns seventy years old, his lawyer starts to make urgent, incoherent noises about "putting your affairs in order." Blaine is hale and hearty and takes good care of himself, as he always did, but he supposes that life's unexpected and tragic and it'd be best to do as much good as he can before he has to go.

That's always been his concern. Blaine knows that he's gifted, and he's made it his mission in life to use everything he's been given to help others. What was the point of having these advantages if they couldn't make the world a better place?

Family and close friends go first. His will is very simple and straightforward, even if it is long. The kids are well taken care of already, so they've requested keepsakes, not money. Aidan's a professor of history at Cornell, so he will receive all the family photos, from both sides of the family – from vacations in the Philippines, road trips, picnics, reunions, even the old, old ones where Cooper and Blaine are dressed up Duran Duran style. Elizabeth's a corporate banker who sits on the board of several charities, including the Met. She'll get Blaine's two pianos. Sam is a writer. She takes after her Uncle Sam the most, so she'll get all of his (unfinished) compositions and his personal library. Cooper's wife and children will get the rest of the Anderson family heirlooms, including his mother's diamond necklace and his father's model car collection. Everyone's partners and children are adorable, and Blaine makes sure that they each get something, too; old comic books, hats, toys, and much loved bric a brac that he's collected from his travels all over the earth.

He makes sure to wear his best for his recordings, the one he makes for every single friend he has. His clothes are timelessly elegant in them. Of course. He makes sure to sing, because he wants them to know just how much they've helped him.

Through his lawyer, he establishes scholarship funds for future Warblers at Dalton Academy (still standing, though in a newer building, less vulnerable to mold and time) and future Broadway superstars at NYADA (still standing, always the same). LGBTQ causes, and the Red Cross, round out all of his charitable donations. But, even after all of that, there's still quite a sum of money left over, and Blaine's at a loss to know what to do with it. He doesn't want to give it all to just anyone (although that would be the ultimate grand gesture, wouldn't it?) – it has to go to someone or something significant, and their lives have to change for the better because of it.

There's a new principal at McKinley. Of course there is. Blaine chastises himself; Figgins is long, long gone. Her eyes gleam while she reads Blaine's card. He's always faintly surprised when people recognize him, as if he wasn't incredibly famous or well-respected. He is, but he doesn't feel like it. In Blaine's heart, he's still a eighteen year old boy with big dreams.

"Mr. Anderson! You're still a bit of a legend around these parts," Ms. Badejo says, impressively. "Please, what may I do for you?"

Blaine puts his hat in his lap and nods to the lawyer, who passes over a thick envelope over the table. "Ma'am – "and he looks around at the office, which is of course, different, too – "I'd like to do something for McKinley. This school was… it was home. It had its problems, but I found a real family here."

A faintly greedy light appears in the principal's eyes. "We'd be grateful for anything you could offer. As you know, public education still experiences deep cuts. Your gift could provide textbooks, supplies, teacher training – anything and everything."

Blaine presses his lips together. "I had something more specific in mind."

"Are you thinking about establishing a scholarship?" she suggests. "Our seniors could always use financial help, and your name would be immortalized forever."

"I know they would," and he relaxes finally, and smiles. "What I had in mind was an anonymous gesture."

"April Rhodes still has the auditorium in her name," she mused.

"It needs to be bigger. I thought of buying your whole arts program," Blaine says, abruptly. He injects steel into his richly oaky voice, because, in this, he absolutely won't be gainsaid. His kids say he's just gotten more stubborn with age. Blaine thinks he's just gotten more sure of what he wants.

"Wh – what? But you can't buy the whole program!"

"Yes, I can. This money will ensure your arts program – particularly your Glee club program – will never, _ever_ be cut, and it'll be enough for sheet music, costumes, trips to contests, dance coaching, everything. If you need more, all you need to do is apply to my estate. But it _must_ all go to the arts."

"But – " she sputters, "This is so generous! I don't – I don't know what to say – I just – "

"Just re-establish the program," Blaine says, gently. "The McKinley Glee club was my haven. It should be someone else's haven, too."

"I – I – of course. We'll find someone to start Glee all over again. It fell apart – you know – so I hear, after your class graduated."

"It's a shame it was allowed to die," Blaine hums. "I'm glad you'll be able to change lives again through Glee, and for the better. I do have a condition, however."

"Anything. Absolutely, anything."

"I have someone in mind to help run your Glee club."

—-

Blaine Anderson retires from a performance career that was like no other. And then – he disappears from public life, as swiftly as he first appeared. Then, he took the world by storm. Now, all he wants to do is to change it.

—-

He was always a doer. Retirement sat ill with him, so when the new Glee club teacher noses around for an accompanist, an older man with a bland pseudonym and a nondescript look somehow makes his way to the top of her list. He smiles to himself. And, as they hear the audition of a little sophomore with faded clothes and big dreams shining in his eyes, Blaine knows he made the right decision with his gift.


	8. Mercedes

**Anonymous on Tumblr prompted: "Two roads diverged in a yellow road, and I / – I picked the road least travelled by/And that has made all the difference." - Frost**

I

When Mercedes Jones, international recording artist-slash-superstar, receives _that_ fan letter, it makes her pause. She leans back in her dressing room chair and traces the words on the screen with a ringed finger, over and over.

_Dear Miss Jones,_

_I really love your music and I wanted to get some advice. I'm eighteen years old. I got approached to be a model. I think I'm pretty. But the agent says I need to take my clothes off to make it. This makes me really uncomfortable, but I want to be a star so bad. What do I do?_ _Here's a picture of me_.

Mercedes presses her lips together. She leans forward and looks up at her face, framed by the lights about the mirror. She's older – thank God – and she's wiser, and luckily, she knows what to say.

_Dear Stella_,

_You're a very beautiful girl. I'll keep your picture so I can say I knew you when you make it. _

_When I was nineteen, I had the chance to hit it big. I mean, really big. I had a producer who was going to help me sell my very first album. But he wanted me to sell my body, too, and he told me the sexy pictures would help my music reach more people._

_I'm not going to lie. I was tempted. I wanted to be a star so bad, just like you. But a part of me realized that I wasn't only going to be selling my body; I was going to be selling my soul, too. I wouldn't respect myself if I made decisions which made me uncomfortable. _

_A lot of girls give in and do whatever they think it takes to be successful in this business. Looks do sell. But I shut the deal down and went back home to Lima, Ohio. I sold albums at church, at schools, at libraries, and online. Another music producer heard one of my tracks and scheduled a meeting. I was really nervous, because I remembered what happened the first time. The first thing he told me at that meeting was that I had an amazing voice and talent, and that was what he was interested in the most. _

_I'm sure that if I did that – taken the road more travelled by – I would have gotten lost. I would have died inside. Worst of all, my music would have died, because it meant I had lost faith in myself to do right by me and everyone I know. _

_I'm so glad that I walked away from that first deal. Believe me, honey, it wasn't easy. I struggled a lot in the beginning. There were times when I thought I regretted it. There were days when I'd come home from selling my albums, and I'd cry, and I almost gave up my performing career – twice. But my faith saved me, my friends saved me, and my family saved me. They believed in me, they sold albums for me, and they never gave up. _

_Don't ever sell yourself out. I know that's the road least travelled, because it's harder, and longer, and it needs a lot more sacrifice. But it's the only road I will ever take, and I think you should take it, too._

_Good luck to you in your future. I believe in you, Stella._

_With love and regards,_

_Mercedes Jones_

She stops typing just as a deferential hand is placed on her shoulder. A rolling wave of cheers starts to filter in underneath and around the dressing room door.

II

In her cozy purple bedroom at her parents' house in Lima, nineteen-year old Mercedes wakes up with a start.

It's easy, and it's difficult, but she's not a girl anymore, and she now knows what she's going to do.


End file.
